


Gas Station Adventures

by dabforpalermo



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Death, Fluff, I’m not kidding this is actually really sad, LOOSLY BASED ON ZOMBIELAND IM NOT GONNA LIE, M/M, Sad Ending, happy parts though!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:55:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28491246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dabforpalermo/pseuds/dabforpalermo
Summary: People always said the zombie apocalypse would be scary- well, they always said it couldn't be real, but in the hypothetical sense, it’s a scary place to be. Those people are now flesh eating monsters, and Mickey: he’s in paradise.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 11
Kudos: 29





	Gas Station Adventures

**Author's Note:**

> Massive TW for death, thoughts of suicide, throwing up, and general sadness. Based off Zombieland because that movie is gold.

Mickey holds the shard of glass up, baring his teeth and bringing his free hand to rub at his front one. He slouches back against the truck and lowers the glass, feeling satisfied in his findings, and basking in the sunlight. 

People always said the zombie apocalypse would be scary- well, they always said it couldn't be real, but in the hypothetical sense, it’s a scary place to be. Those people are now flesh eating monsters, and Mickey: he’s in paradise. 

As good as paradise can get, he supposes. His redheaded partner is currently inside the gas station, looking around for food and water, as he always did whenever they were running low, and Mickey is on guard, or, supposed to be. But right now, he’s off in his own world, the heavy gun resting on his thigh the only indicator that things aren’t normal. 

Ian is a… complex character. He’s jittery, as if someone shot caffeine straight through his veins, and doesn’t ever seem to shut up. Always pointing out landmarks and dumb facts he has memorized. It’s baffling how one person has so much to say; even when Mickey’s close to sleeping, he hears the mumbled words falling from Ian’s mouth, so often to the point he can no longer sleep without his personal white noise machine. 

Still, the boy is cute. Young, but cute. Ian’s almost 20, and though Mickey would never go for somebody just under 10 years younger than him, there’s not many other options. Fate is one son of a bitch, but decided to bring the two men together, and Mickey’s gonna do everything in his power to make sure it stays that way. 

“Catch!”

Mickey twitches, instinctively holding a hand out and catching the flying package coming toward him. He turns it over in his palm and lets out a breathy laugh, the shard of glass now a few meters away from his body. 

“No shit, man, really?”

Ian gives him a dopey grin, holding piles of supplies in one hand and his gun in the other. He opens the backseat of their truck and throws the mess in, offering a hand out to Mickey. 

“Yep. Thought you’d like.”

Mickey accepts his hand and stands, opening the pack and shoving a sour candy in his mouth. One night, a couple weeks ago, Mickey and Ian were pitched out at some random apartment building, sipping on a large bottle of vodka (in the apocalypse, you don’t use glasses). Mickey had drunkenly shared the fact that his favourite thing growing up was sour candy, and he thought Ian had forgotten, but alas. 

Mickey slides into the driver's seat and starts the vehicle up, driving off into the distance after a quick look around. They’ve been lucky, zombie wise, the past couple days. Nowhere on earth is completely free of the creatures, but in more secluded towns, there are less and less. They tend to stick to those towns. 

“Mickey?”

“Hm?”

Ian shifts a little in his seat. “Can I ask you something?”

Mickey spares him a glance. “Not like you’ve ever been shy to talk before. What’s up?”

Ian darts his tongue over his bottom lip. “What do we do if one of us gets bitten?”

Mickey is quiet for a moment. “We don’t. Easy as that.”

“Obviously not that easy.” Ian nods toward a corpse on the side of the road, some old zombie munching on its skin. Mickey rolls his eyes and avoids the scene, speeding the car up. 

“Not for these idiots. We’re smarter than that. Don’t be stupid and we won’t have to run into that problem.”

Ian shuts up, at least for a little bit, and Mickey enjoys the silence. He even goes so far as to turn the radio up, one of his hands sliding out through the window and patting the hot metal of the car to the beat. Still, Ian looks upset, so he pulls the car into a parking lot and turns to the boy. 

“What?”

Ian looks at him for a second before returning his stare back to the window. “I want you to shoot me.”

“The fuck?”

“Not now. If- if I get bit. I couldn’t do it myself but I don’t want to get you infected.”

Mickey presses his thumb and forefinger to his temple. “Christ, kid, you’re not gonna get bit. Where is this coming from?”

“It happened to everyone, Mick. My family. Your family. Your son-“

Mickey sucks in a breath, glaring at Ian. He’s brought up Yev a couple times, mostly by accident, but the topic is too sensitive for him, even though he is a hardass. Ian looks like he’s about to retract his statement but then he shakes his head. 

“We need to talk about what could happen.”

“Okay, here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna shut the fuck up, stop being a paranoid little shit, and we’re gonna find a nice place to stay in and settle down. There’s no reason for you to be flipping out. So calm down.”

Ian’s mouth twists into a frown. “Please, Mick.”

Mickey closes the package of candy and shoves it in the cup holder, moving his body so his back is pressed up against the door. “Fine. Talk.”

“If something happens to me, I want you to keep going. Find shelter and keep your mind on the plan. And- and if something were to happen to you, I would do the same.”

“Good. But nothing’s gonna happen.”

“Sure. Yeah. But still. Just in case. And.. if one of us gets exposed,” Ian chooses his words carefully. “We have to do the right thing. And that’s to finish the job.”

“I’m not gonna shoot you.”

“You have to!” Ian’s face is red, one of his tells that he’s getting upset. Mickey can read him like a book, and he doesn’t know if it’s just because the boy is so transparent with his emotions, or because they’ve spent the last few months together, learning each other's strengths and weaknesses.

“Why the fuck would I shoot you?”

“I can’t be a zombie!” Ian shouts. “I can’t! I can’t eat people, Mickey, that’s really fucked up. I just- if I’m gonna turn into one, I want you to shoot me. Before I can infect you.”

Mickey sits up, deciding to play along. “What if I’m already bitten?”

“Then we shoot each other.”

Ian looks like he’s a second away from crying, or stomping his foot in a little temper tantrum he has ever once in a while, so Mickey sighs and shrugs. 

“Fine. I’ll kill you first chance I get.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Ian exhales. “Thank you.”

“Now please go the fuck to sleep. You’re one second away from a breakdown, and I’m gonna look for a house for the night.” Mickey starts driving again, sending looks to the kid every minute or so, trying to make sure he’s still breathing. 

“Shoot you my ass,” he mumbles, tucking a strand of red hair behind Ian’s ear. 

-

On the 6 month anniversary of their first meeting, Ian wakes up with a smile, stretching out before promptly hopping on top of Mickey and poking at his chest. Mickey grumbles and sits up, his hands grabbing at Ian’s hips. It’s the fun part of their relationship- they both like each other, it’s obvious, and have lots of good sex, but they’ve never once discussed labels. There’s no rush, especially since the world has ended already. 

“Fuck’s got you in a good mood?”

Ian leans his face down and presses a kiss on Mickey’s jawline, trailing down to his neck. He sucks a mark into the skin then pulls back. 

“It’s my birthday.”

Mickey gives him a smile, removing his hands from his body to wipe at his eyes. “Well, happy birthday.”

“I’m 20 now! Which means I’m only a half lifetime younger than you.”

Mickey swats at his side, pushing the boy off him. “Yeah, keep running your mouth, we’ll see where that gets you.”

“I can think of a few good places to put my mouth.”

“Let me brush my teeth first, firecrotch.”

Later that night, when it’s dark and they need to go get gas, Mickey parks the car and gets out. He is about to grab the pump when Ian’s door opens, the redhead fiddling with something on the radio before jumping out of the truck, a grin on his face as classical music starts bumping through the air. 

“Fuck no.”

Ian frowns, grabbing Mickey’s hand. “Dance with me.”

“We gotta get going. It’s too dark-“

Ian shakes his head, tugging Mickey away from the car and starting to move his body around flimsily. Mickey stares at him, his eyebrow cocked in interest, and laughs a little when the boy stumbles over his feet. 

“Do you know how to slow dance?”

“Never got the chance to learn.”

Ian gapes at him. “What? Oh my god, you totally have to learn. I’ll teach you. Are you the girl or the boy?”

Mickey glares at him. “The fuck do you think?”

“The boy always leads. So, you can be the girl for now. Until you get better. Okay, you wanna put your hands on my shoulders and kinda lock your fingers together-“

Mickey follows the instructions, treating this as his birthday gift, as if he hasn’t already given him multiple rounds of mind blowing sex, but Ian is giggling like a kid on Christmas, so he doesn’t complain. 

Ian holds his waist, swaying around to the beat. They get closer until their faces are right next to each other, Mickey only being able to see the outline of Ian’s face in the dark night. The flickering neon sign of the gas station does nothing to light up the atmosphere, but Ian does good enough at lightening up the darkness in Mickey’s world, so he can’t find it in him to care. 

Mickey remembers the first couple weeks of the apocalypse- how terribly cold and lonely it was. He had Yev with him, but then he left for 5 seconds, and the boy was gone. It was only when he found his body that he came to terms with the fact that this is his new life, it just has to suck, those are the rules. Hell, he was seconds away from pulling the trigger on himself, when a boy with a face full of freckles ran head first into his car, roughly firing his gun in any direction until the zombies were gone. 

He had offered the kid a ride, but he was so scared and untouched by everything going on, Mickey decided then and there he was going to do everything to protect him. He stood outside bathroom stalls with his gun leveled high, daring the world to come after the one good thing he had. 

Mickey’s good at scaring things. He’s good at rounding up the worst things to exist and firing away, expertly killing herds of zombies without breaking a sweat, but Ian- pure, round, and happy, was there to hold him when he was scared. Mickey trained Ian to be a fighter, and now, the boy is strong as ever, and Mickey can’t help but feel his heart swell. 

“I’m glad I’m with you.”

Mickey hums, looking up at Ian. Even though he has about 10 years on him, Ian has a few inches (in multiple places) on Mickey, and often uses that to his advantage. Mickey is short and fiesty. Ian is tall and soft. They fit together perfectly. 

“Me too, kid. Me too.”

Ian goes to press a kiss to his forehead when he feels a hand latch onto his leg. He immediately shoves Mickey away, kicking out into the dark and letting out a loud grunt. Mickey grabs the gun from his ankle holster and makes sure he’s not aimed at Ian before shooting. 

He misses; he can tell from the second he aims. Mickey can’t help it, he gets nervous around Ian. The taller man falls onto the ground and fights tooth and nail before grabbing Mickey’s gun from him, firing up at the zombie on top of him, then pushing the creature away and catching his breath. 

“Shit, fuck, are you okay?”

“I’m good. Fucker scratched my leg up.” Ian hands Mickey the gun back. 

Mickey lets out a sigh of relief. He could deal with a scratch. “C’mon, let’s get back to the car.”

Ian holds a hand out, Mickey helping him stand. He wraps his arm around Ian’s waist and supports him to the car, and when they’re back in the light, Ian freezes. 

“Ian?”

“Oh, fuck…”

Mickey narrows his eyes and looks down at where Ian is staring, at a bloody bite mark, placed messily upon his calf. Mickey feels the breath being punched out of his lungs and shakes his head. 

“Hey, hey, it’s just a scratch. You’re okay.”

“Mickey…”

“No. You’re fine. Come on, let’s go back to the house. Everything’s okay.”

Ian grabs onto Mickey’s sweater, then pulls away and shoves his hands under his armpits. He doesn’t trust himself right now. 

“Mickey.”

Mickey kneels down and examines the bite. “It’s fine. Nothing we can’t fix.”

“It’s a fucking bite, Mickey! We- fuck!”

Mickey helps Ian into a sitting position, then promptly starts pacing. Ian is starting to look pale. 

“You need to shoot me.”

“No fucking way.” Mickey glares, weighing his options. “We could… cut your leg off? Stop the infection from spreading?”

“No, Mick. We can’t.”

“Ian..”

“It’s okay.” Ian changes his tactics. He whines a little and reaches up for Mickey’s hand, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles. “I’m okay. You need to do this, Mick.”

Mickey blinks, and it’s only then Ian realizes he has tears in his eyes. “I can’t shoot you, Ian..”

“You promised.”

“I’m not shooting you. End of discussion.” Mickey bites down in his thumbnail and slides next to Ian, his back resting against the truck, similar to the position he was in a while ago. “Can we-“

“Just- I need a minute.” Ian rests his cheek on Mickey’s shoulder, taking deep breaths. Ian’s requesting silence- that’s scary. 

They sit there for a while longer, the classical music still playing gently from the car, until Ian really starts to feel it. His head is starting to go cloudy and his hands won’t stop shaking, alongside the nausea that’s building up in his stomach. Mickey is about to speak when Ian leans over and throws up, blood dripping from his mouth. 

“There we go, let it out.” Mickey leans forward, rubbing Ian’s back. When the boy slumps back against the car, Mickey reaches his hand out and cups Ian’s face, wiping the remaining blood off his lip. Ian gives him an exhausted look. 

“I need you to shoot me. Please- please, Mickey. Please. I can’t- I can’t hurt you. Or anyone. Please,” he cries, sniffling as tears start to run down his cheeks. Mickey takes a deep breath to conceal his own sadness, trying to be brave for him. 

“I can’t…”

“Mickey. You promised me. You fucking promised. Please.”

Mickey slowly grabs his gun from the holster, his hands shaking so much that he can’t get a grip on it. Ian exhales heavily and grabs Mickey’s hand, aiming the gun to his chest. 

“You have to shoot me twice. Or else- it’ll just get worse.”

Mickey squeezes his eyes shut, too worked up to hold back the tears. Ian weakly pulls him close, letting go of Mickey’s hand in order to cup his cheeks. 

“I’m okay.” He smiles, hiccuping as he cries harder. Mickey cracks an eye open and shakes his head. “You have to do this, Mickey.”

“I don’t want to lose you.”

Ian’s eyes are starting to droop a little. “You won’t. I’ll be right with you. In the passenger’s seat. Annoying the shit out of you and playing the music you hate. I promise. I’ll be right here with you.”

Mickey lets out a shaky breath. He presses the tip of the gun to Ian’s chest, leaning forward and kissing him gently. Ian kisses him back, and through the taste of metallic blood and salty tears, Mickey feels at home. 

“I love you.”

Mickey presses their foreheads together. “I love you too.”

“Please.”

“I’m sorry, kid.” Mickey cocks the gun and presses it back to Ian. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Mickey doesn’t want to look him in the eye, but the sobbing boy tries to keep a smile on his face, so he can’t help but connect their lips again, squeezing his eyes shut as he pulls the trigger, then again, feeling the life drain from the boy under him 

Mickey doesn’t sleep that night, or the night after that, or the night after that. 

It’s too quiet. 

**Author's Note:**

> I’m sorry. That’s all.


End file.
